Today in Bosnia
a man, a prisoner of war,
was made to kneel
and castrate his friend
with his teeth.
in a field
a horse
rubbed the neck of another,
in a kitchen
ants
wrestled with a breadcrumb
and in the trees
God still sang
through the throats of birds.
The gift of walking,
the gift of sleep,
the gift of hope,
the gift of mercy,
take them away
with
rape
truncheon
electrode
bullet.
Don’t paint
a flower,
paint a fist.
Don’t paint
a sky,
paint a scream.
Don’t paint
a bird,
paint a man
starved, beaten,
dead in the mud.
Today in Bosnia
a man, a prisoner of war,
was made to kneel down
and castrate his friend
with his teeth.
A dog barks,
a snail continues,
our consciences flap
their polluted wings.
climbing the ladder, this life of broken rungs,
but climbing still,
to tell us
that dreams do not have an easy price
or an ending.